Killer Angels
by BillyDeeWilliams
Summary: Set during the Zerg invasion of Korhal in Heart of the Swarm, this fic concerns a group of Dominion marines who get caught up in my take on the overarching plot, involving, of course, the hybrids, Kerrigan, the Dark Voice, and Mengsk.
1. Chapter 1-Evacuation

Author's note: My first fic, so be as mean as possible, no sugar coating. Also, I've written the beginnings of an extremely spoiler-heavy outline, which, if you desire a peek at the overarching plot, I am willing to publish. Also, I wanted to draw your attention to a few changes I've made to Terran weapons and technology. First, Banshees have guns as well as rockets, since it makes no military sense to design a close-air support vehicle without them (in-game, it's an issue of balance). Second, I have conceived of Vikings much less as walker/jet, and much more as a heavy air superiority fighter, similar in many ways to the Valkyries from Brood War. These Vikings are heavily armored and, like Banshees, also come equipped with cannon in addition to their torpedoes. In this fic, their walker mode is extremely rarely used, and really only in emergencies, since it is extremely dangerous to the pilot (true even in-game), and because it's not certain that a Viking can transition back to its far more mobile aircraft mode. More changes, hopefully making some tech more realistic, will surely come later.

Again, as mentioned in the summary, this is set during Kerrigan's invasion of Korhal during Heart of the Swarm, and the plot will ultimately concern the hybrids and Kerrigan's role in stopping the Dark Voice, though she herself is not an important character. On a personal and story note, this fic will feature Gabriel Tosh heavily, due to my disappointment at learning that HoS will not feature this crazy awesome character. Aside from those canon characters already mentioned, Zeratul, Ulrezaj, Samir Duran, Jim Raynor, the Tal'darim, Emil Narud, and, of course, Arcturus and Valerian Mengsk will feature heavily and importantly. Nevertheless, the main character, Oswald 'Ozzy' Barnes, is an original creation.

* * *

_They say a man never really knows himself…until he's faced with his own mortality. I wonder, Mr. Barnes, how well do you know yourself? You may ask yourself how you can know anything about who you are, when your mind's been wiped. And to that I say the past is irrelevant! Who we are is in the present, that we are who we choose to be, every minute of every day. And so I wonder, Mr. Barnes, who will you choose to be, and when you face your death, who will you become? Because war is coming. With all its glory, and all its horror. And if you survive it, you shall not be the same. I wonder…_

-Arcturus Mengsk, to Oswald Barnes, upon his conscription from cryo-sleep into the Terran Dominion Armed Forces.

* * *

"Bandit Six, this is Falcon Two-Six Actual. My copters are headed to your location for fire support, ETA seventy-three seconds. Withdraw up the boulevard to clear the killbox," Ozzy heard over his squad comms.

"Bandit Six Actual. Negative, Falcon Two-Six," came the reply from Ozzy's company commander, "cannot withdraw, civilians already in the line of fire. Bring it danger close."

"Roger that, Bandit Six. Danger close." As Ozzy listened to the conversation, three wickedly barbed spikes, coated in a garishly colored poison, slammed into his suit's shoulder, but didn't penetrate far enough to dose him with that horrible substance. "Too damn close," he muttered, throwing himself down and behind a hastily erected trench wall. He felt the spikes prickle into his undersuit, causing its ferrofluidic filling to harden slightly, keeping the projectiles from skewering his shoulder. In the trench, he yanked the spikes out with his power-gauntleted left hand, and crushed them under foot.

He popped back up, identifying the hydralisk that had shot at him, quickly peered down the long telescopic sight that ran the whole length of his gauss rifle, and squeezed off two shots, the first destroying the creature's head carapace, where it stored those spikes, and the second in its midsection, destroying the lowest part of the hydra's exceptionally long brain stem. As he ducked back down, he identified two more hydras, but before he could target them, six long, sleek, black aircraft powered by massive turbofans screamed around the street corner behind him, filling the whole boulevard with a hideous, ungodly wailing that set Ozzy's teeth on edge even through his suit's powerful audio filters. The noise, he thought, must be unbearable outside.

Indeed, the noise had momentarily stopped the apparently inexorable Zerg advance, as they rolled on the ground, in obvious pain. The civilians fleeing up the boulevard, however, were in no better shape. Many of them began to spasm, falling to the ground, and Ozzy could see blood running from the ears of those civilians closest to him. Again over the squad comms, Ozzy heard his commander shout, "Falcon, shut that racket off! Now!"

Falcon didn't respond, but the noise suddenly disappeared, though the gunships' turbofans spun no slower. From up the boulevard, Ozzy could see militiamen driving around the wide street in their combat jeeps, rousting the civilians, getting them moving again. He noticed that the militiamen bolstering his company's own position, mercifully provided with aural protection, were doing the same.

After a fractional hesitation, the Banshee gunships accelerated in Ozzy's direction, and just as he saw their underbellies, they began firing. Thousands of cannon rounds from their double-mount gatling cannons, and hundreds of rockets from their beehive-like rocket pods hammered the street not five feet from Ozzy's face, turning the Zerg filling the streets into so much bloody mulch and charred carapace. They plowed down the whole road, before encountering four odd, stationary growths that spat acidic projectiles at the gunships, which crippled one Banshee's left engine, sending it tumbling from the sky. The pilot, clearly a professional, fought for whatever control he could get over his crippled machine, bringing it into something like a controlled crash landing, in the middle of the next block. The airworthy Banshees shot straight up and behind the cover of a tall, narrow office building.

* * *

In her cockpit, Falcon Two-Six, known to some as Captain Lauren Hastings, swore foully as one of her copters fell from the sky. "Mayday, mayday, mayday. I'm going in, Laurie," Falcon Two-Two, Lieutenant Charles Cassidy, said over the flight comm, sounding slightly panicked but in control. "I'm gonna try to bring it down as close as I can to those marines."

"Don't die on me, Chucky. You welshed on that bet, remember, and I intend to collect!" She heard a snippet of manic laughter before Chucky's comm cut off. She opened her comm back to flight-wide, and said, "Okay, boys and girls, we're going to cover Chucky while he goes down, make sure he doesn't get hit by any more spores. Then we'll cover him while the marines extract him." She heard four affirmative beeps over her comm as they circled back around, jumped out from behind their cover building in a stack, and launched a huge, blind attack, hoping to destroy some of those colonies.

As they moved back out, one of the colonies spat another gobbet at them, but was shot down by the Hastings' gun mount, commandeered from her control by its automated point-defense protocols. The other four gunships unleashed a short storm of cannon fire, silencing the last air defenses, as the remaining mobile Zerg continued retreating, obviously regrouping.

"Bandit Six," Hastings shouted into her comm, opening the channel back to the ground commander, a Captain Wallace Baird according to the top-right corner of her visor's HUD, "this is Falcon Two-Six. No doubt you just saw my guy go down. I need you to send some men to recover him."

* * *

"No problem, Falcon," Baird said, from the ground. He turned and shouted, "Hey, Ozzy! Get your section. Need you to go get that pilot." As he did so, a ping from his comm confirmed that Falcon Two-Two was still alive. The other Falcons hovered around the crashed bird, letting off occasional bursts of gunfire, cutting down the odd zergling.

As Ozzy gathered his section and checked his shotgun ammo, a huge flight of hideous, bat-winged things with horrific mouth-like openings on their lower bodies, from which issued volleys of the feared glaive wurm parasites, appeared in the skies above the downed aircraft. The parasites sped towards the stationary gunships. Their gun mounts quickly swiveled, intercepting many, but several slammed, violently, into the hovering 'copters, damaging them slightly, and bounced down to the stricken Falcon Two-Two. "Falcon Two-Six, scramble! Now!" Baird shouted.

"Read my mind," came the reply. On the ground, Ozzy could hear Falcon Two-Two firing his personal defense weapon, attempting to defend himself from the wurms. As his fellow marines began firing upon the mutalisks, attempting to prevent them from following the gunships, Ozzy and his section, three other men, tossed their gauss rifles into the magnetic clamps on the backs of their powered armor, and ripped their cut-down combat shotguns from their quick-draw thigh holsters, and sprinted towards the downed plane. Behind him, Ozzy heard the roar of afterburners, as a pair of Viking jets streaked down the boulevard, their powerful anti-air missiles and heavy cannons tearing into the mutalisks descending upon Ozzy's company, but only a part had engaged the marines, and most had followed the Banshees. Ozzy heard angry buzzing sound of rotary cannons from several blocks away, as the Banshees attempted to hold off the mutas.

Ozzy and his men let off occasional blasts from their shotguns as they made their way toward Falcon Two-Two, eviscerating several zerglings. Ahead of him, Ozzy saw that the Vikings had not even stopped for his company, instead firing the one volley as they passed, on their way to back up the Banshees. After a few more seconds of running, Ozzy and his men arrived at the wreck, where Falcon Two-Two was frantically firing at the glaive wurms, and which was being circled by several hydralisks. Ozzy's section let off a volley of shotgun rounds, distracting the hydras, as Ozzy continued running, firing his own shotgun at the glaive wurms. Ozzy yanked the battered pilot from his cockpit without a word, firing a few blasts from his shotgun over his shoulder, and carrying him bodily towards his section, who had taken cover and were laying down a withering shotgun barrage. They had killed several hydras and forced the others to retreat, but in the heat of battle, a pair of zerglings had ambushed one Ozzy's men, chopping off his leg before they could be killed.

The man, Brian 'Bear' O'Neill, was not screaming, and in fact had a somewhat distant look on his face as he fired his gun with unerring accuracy, due to his suit's automatically applied painkillers. His segmented upper leg armor had extended downwards slightly, and had enclosed the bleeding stump, as the suit administered a huge dose of coagulants and antibiotics. Ozzy's other two men, George Grimm and Max Hauser, picked the Bear up, carrying him between them, as they retreated, while the Bear continued to fire his shotgun, blowing off a hydra's mandible. Sniper fire from his company felled two more, discouraging any pursuit.

As they returned to the company, the last few mutas had fled, while a medevac dropship flew down the boulevard, low and fast, trailed by a pair of Goliaths. The medevac stopped just as Ozzy and his men returned, took on several marines wounded by glaive wurms and hydra spikes, including the Bear and the downed Falcon Two-Two. The Goliaths stayed, and for a moment Ozzy wondered why, given that the Dominion military was typically stingy with such formidable hardware.

That was when the walker's autocannons started pounding, and Ozzy realized that the Zerg must have regrouped. He spun, dispatching his remaining men, both marksmen, to take up overwatch positions, as several hydralisk spikes thudded into the medevac's left engine, causing it to slew dangerously, crunching several wrecked cars. However, Ozzy noted with approval, it was capable of flying on one engine, and quickly got back on course, speeding away from the onrushing horde.

As Ozzy surveyed the approaching Zerg, he felt a great rush of gratitude that the street behind him, finally clearing of civilians, was substantially more heavily fortified that the couple of puny trenches his company huddled in. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," a voice crackled over the comm, "this is it. Unfortunately, we have no other support than those two walkers there, and I'm told this looks like the main Zerg push. If you need motivation, think about this: behind us is the main evacuation center for this sector. Four million people trying to get off this hellhole, and only two thousand of us. Make it count, people. Mortars! Fire at will." To his left, Ozzy heard the muffled crumping of mortar rounds being fired, while the heavy guns mounted in the sole bunker that formed the crux of his company's defense opened up on the fast-approaching Zerg, cutting down the front ranks, while the Goliaths' guns blasted holes in the Zerg column further back. Dozens of gauss rifles added their voices to the racket. Ozzy, laying on a slightly elevated pile of debris, rested his rifle against what had been a car fender. He spotted a small group of what his fellow marines had taken to calling roaches: big, low to the ground, encrusted in thick armor, with razor-sharp manibles and a deadly acid saliva. They were clearly hiding among the other Zerg, attempting to get close enough to reduce the Goliaths to goo.

He set his scope to 4x magnification, and planted the crosshair on the closest roach's front leg, right at the joint. He squeezed the trigger three times, sending three tungsten carbide spikes toward the hapless creature at 2000 meters per second. The projectiles severed the front leg, and pulverized the one behind. As it fell, he sighted the one behind, firing a single round into its hissing mouth, turning the acid glands inside into paste, and burning it from the inside out. He sighted a third, which was using its saliva to melt the carapace off its fallen companion, probably to eat the corpse. He flicked a switch, setting his rifle to full auto, and fired off a medium-length burst of ten rounds, which smashed its carapace and gutted the roach.

Ozzy was about to fire on a fourth roach, when he realized that his company had much bigger problems. "Captain," he said into his comm, "I'm going to assume you know about this," as he methodically shot down hydralisks.

* * *

"You still need to work on your condescension," Baird drawled back. "It's not nearly as annoying as my father's."

"I've been taking lessons."

"Get a new tutor."

"So what do you want me to do about the ultralisk?"

"Nothing, you moron. We're falling back. They got siege tanks further up the line. They can deal with the ultra."

"What about those Banshees?" Ozzy asked, firing off a burst from his rifle, shredding the wing of a solitary mutalisk peeking over one of the buildings.

"Just got a call from brigade command at the evac point. Five ultras heading towards them from the north. Those gunships have more important things to do. No. We fall back." Baird switched to company comms, into which the two Goliaths had been patched, "Boys, we are falling back. Do not attempt to engage the ultralisk. Bunker, put some fire on it, see if you can't slow it down."

Around him, the company reloaded their weapons and prepared to retreat, and Baird took stock of his company over his suit's HUD. He had started today with eighty-two men, had suffered twenty wounded and eight dead, all in the last hour or so. "And the day's just getting started," he muttered, as he checked his own weapon's ammo. The Goliaths and the bunker redoubled their efforts, spitting out fire at an unsustainable rate, trying vainly to draw attention from the company's backs as they fell back in leapfrogs. In the street, the slackening fire had allowed a mass of zerglings to get into the trenches.

The fast, horrifying little things swarmed over his marines, hacking them to death with their vicious armor-piercing claws. Baird fired a burst from his rifle, catching several as they came down the trench, six abreast, going for two of his men dragging another wounded. He dove, smashing into the wounded man's legs, but his momentum carried him through, putting himself between the retreating men and far, far too many zerglings. From his prone position, he let off a long burst, blunting the zergling advance slightly.

They quickly resumed their attack, and Baird realized they would not be held by his fire, so he stood, extended his rifle's bayonet, and began hacking, slashing, and stomping, hoping desperately that the little beasts wouldn't drag him down.

Eventually, their numbers told, and they began to swarm over him, their claws banging like gunshots off his armor as they tried to kill him. From above the trench, Ozzy and his men, among the last to retreat, fired rifle grenades into the trench, splattering carapace chunks and squishy innards all over the trench walls, before they pulled out their shotguns and began cleaning the remaining beasts off Baird's flailing body with a modified form of birdshot Ozzy designed for just these situations. Ozzy hopped into the trench and hauled the captain to his feet, saying, "Nice job. Time to go, you crazy bastard."

"Thanks for shooting me," Baird snarked, as he scooped up his rifle and wrenched up his wrecked visor, which had been destroyed but not punctured by the birdshot.

* * *

"Any time," Ozzy said, as he and his men switched back to gauss rifles, firing long bursts at the zerg continuing to swarm the trench. They began running, staying below the trench to avoid the huge swarm that was, mercifully, mostly ignoring them, driven by bloodlust or some other force to pursue the juicier targets ahead. About a block ahead of him, Ozzy heard the thunderous impacts of shock cannon shells impacting the street, telling him that at least some of the company had passed within their range, and now had some real cover.

As they exited the trench works, Ozzy spied the smoldering corpse of a Goliath, which was being swarmed by zerglings. From within, Ozzy heard a submachine gun being fired, and made to try to get the pilot out, but Baird clamped his hand on Ozzy's shoulder, preventing him from going, and said, "Nothing you can do, man. We got to go, in case you hadn't noticed the Zerg everywhere."

Abruptly, Ozzy was reminded that they stood in a river of Zerg. He gave the battlefield a quick scan, before Baird tried yanking him off to the side to hide in an office building, and noticed that one Goliath was still standing, retreating with the company, and that, for whatever reason, the Zerg seemed not to care about the four men in their midst. Ozzy quickly found the office building extremely attractive, feeling, deep in his bones, that whatever was holding the Zerg to such a singular purpose would soon end, and he would disappear under thousands of zerglings and hundreds of hydra spines.

Baird, from inside the building, opened a channel to his second in command, Bandit Five, or Lieutenant Arthur Bering, saying, "Artie! I need you to take command of the company. Obviously, we're separated, and I won't be able to get to you any time soon. Don't screw this up."

"Thanks for that. No pressure, right?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Artie."

"Command does. Don't be surprised if, when you get back, they've given me your spot."

"Ambition doesn't suit you either. Baird out." He turned to the three other men, doing their best to look inconspicuous, a forlorn hope considering they were about nine feet tall and weighed a metric ton in their armor, and said, "Okay, gentlemen. Ideas?"

"I'm up for killing the ultra," Ozzy said

"And the captain already called you a moron. I agree," said Grimm.

"Is that a spine you've grown there, George?"

"Maybe I'll use yours when the ultra spits it out."

"Ouch," Baird said, sucking his teeth, "You know our weapons won't even scratch it."

"Every suit of armor has a chink. I know the ultra's. And maybe I'll let you have part of the ultra's when I rip it out, Georgie."

"Zerg don't have skeletons. They have carapaces," muttered Hauser.

"Everyone's a critic," Ozzy said. "Come on, boss. You know I can do this. And you know that the men defending the evac point need all the help they can get. If I die, it's just one marine. If I kill it, well…"

"Where's this chink of yours?"

"Where else? Where the head joins the body. I'll hop on, slide down that big ridge on its back, open up its neck with my shotgun, put a few rifle grenades in there. Bam. Done."

"Like it's nothing."

"Well, I will need your help. Even from the top of this building, I can't make that jump. I need you guys to get its attention."

"Oh, wonderful," Grimm said, cycling to explosive rounds on his gauss.

"When the smaller breeds come after you, just retreat upwards. Rig up some grenades for proximity mines. Never know, we might survive."

"I love your plans, Ozzy," Hauser muttered, checking his grenades.

"I know, right? Got the warm fuzzies just thinking about all this teamwork." Ozzy said, with a grin that was at once evil and childishly irritating.

"What are you going to do after you kill it? You'll be standing in the middle of an ocean of zerg," Baird asked

"Don't kill my ego trip with your _logic_."

"I'm serious."

"I like that you're already assuming that I'll kill it."

"I hate you," Baird said, as he took aim at the nigh-invulnerable, eighty-ton monstrosity.

"Well, let me get into position, first. And as for escaping, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. And see if you can't get us a pick up. Something that flies."

"Oh, that's likely," Baird said, but started muttering into his comm anyway.

"Which?"

"Either. Both. Go."

"Yes, sir," Ozzy said, with a mocking little salute, and pounded up the staircase. On his way up, he heard noises from inside some of the offices, sobbing and scrabbling as people tried to barricade their doors. Ozzy stopped for half a second, "Damn," he said, under his breath, and kept running.

"Okay, Captain. I'm on the roof. See if you can get its attention."

"Roger." Below him, Ozzy heard several muffled thumps as the three other men fired rifle grenades. The grenades impacted the ultra's side, as it lumbered up the street, exploding against its carapace. The ultra roared in pain, though from what Ozzy could see through his scope, the grenades hadn't left more than a few scorch marks.

"Nice work!" Ozzy shouted into his comm, as the ultra bellowed and rammed itself bodily into the building, which shook, while the other zerg massed for an attack.

"Did I mention I hate you?!" Baird shouted back, firing his rifle.

"Seconded!" Hauser and Grimm shouted nearly simultaneously as they fired their shotguns, while the ultra proceeded to pulverize the building's façade with its giant, slashing claws, as though trying to create an opening large enough for it to enter through. The building shook violently. "Time to make that jump, Ozzy! We're retreating," shouted Hauser.

_Jumping time_, Ozzy thought, suddenly a little hesitant. He clamped his rifle to his back, and pulled out his combat knives, planning to sink them into the joints between the ultra's carapace plates to keep himself from careening off the ultra's back, assuming he managed to hit the ultra. He stepped back, and took a massive running start, plunging off the side of the building and down into the urban canyon filled with bloodthirsty, vicious creatures. For a split second, just after he jumped, Ozzy finally realized what a bad idea this was. _Committed now_, he thought. _Might as well make the best of it. _He angled his knives down, planning on hitting the ultra's back as hard as he could.

For a moment, it looked as though his jump was perfect, and he would land right on the ultra's back. However, it triggered a proximity mine as it eviscerated the building, causing it to flail. "Shit." Ozzy said, as he glanced off the sloping side of the ultra's carapace. He lashed out desperately with his knives, trying to catch the ultra's side, somewhere. The knives skittered across the ultra's carapace as he continued to fall, but the knife in his left hand managed to wedge itself between two carapace plates.

Unfortunately, he was now hanging off the ultralisk's side, over a hell of a lot of zerglings and hydralisks, by a narrow strip of neosteel. From his perch, he threw his second, unused knife into a hydralisk's mouth, and quickly jettisoned every grenade he had, except for two rifle grenades, setting them to bouncing mines as they fell. When they impacted the ground, the bounced in the air and sent shrapnel flying in a wide, circular pattern, largely clearing the area around this side of the ultra. Ozzy knew he only had a few seconds, and so heaved as hard as he could with both hands on the knife. His effort sent him up the ultra's side a few feet. He managed to shove his fingers into a similar joint further up.

The force and tightness nearly crushed his fingers as he reached back down, yanking the knife out of the ultra's side. He opened his visor and stuck the knife between his teeth, and hauled himself further up, using his fingers as he had the knife. He suddenly felt a rush of painkillers and knew he had broken at least one bone in there, probably several. Despite the lack of pain, however, that hand had now weakened significantly.

Luckily for Ozzy, the ultra was too angry at its tormentors in the building, and didn't seem to be going out of its way to shake Ozzy off, though its constant battering of the building caused Ozzy to nearly fall several times. He reached up with the knife again, found purchase again, and hauled himself further up. This time, he decided to stand on the knife, jump, and make a grab for one of the large spikes protruding from upper parts of the ultra's otherwise sloping carapace. As he readied his one-footed jump, he felt the neosteel of the knife crackling dangerously beneath him, and put all the force he could into that one leg, sending him lurching into the air, even as the dagger shattered. He made a frantic grab with his good arm for the spike, and thanked God that he had rubberized his gauntlets, giving him enough of a fingertip hold to bring his other arm up, and finally managed to throw both arms over the spike, giving him a moment to rest.

He eventually pulled himself up to a standing position on the spike, allowing him to jump onto the ultra's topmost carapace ridge, which, if he slid down it, would take him straight down to the ultra's small and well-protected head. He made the jump, but just as the ultralisk attacked the building again, causing him to be thrown into midair. He crashed down, painfully, on the top ridge as the ultra swung the other direction on his way down. Feeling another rush of painkillers, he was able to gain control of his wild slide just enough so that he would not, if only just, fall off. At the bottom of the ridge, he managed to stop just short of running into the massive horn on the ultra's head, which he felt sure would draw its attention.

As he tried desperately to pull out his shotgun, he realized he hadn't heard anything from his section for a while, and was suddenly very afraid they had died. He finally managed to rip the shotgun from its holster, and put a few frantic armor piercing blasts into the point where the head met the rest of the ultra's body, causing it to bellow and buckle slightly, threatening to simply toss Ozzy off. Now that he definitely had the beast's attention, it stopped its attack on the building, and began trying to throw Ozzy off.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer, Ozzy dropped the shotgun and tore his last grenades from their magazine, set them to maximum explosive power, and shoved them into the small rift he had just created, with both hands. The ultra's bucking tossed him free almost instantly, and, by some miracle, sent him flying through the air towards the building the ultra had been attacking. As he flew through the air, the grenades exploded, vaporizing the ultralisk's head. The huge, dead thing slumped, somewhat anticlimactically, to the street, crushing hundreds of zerg under its bulk. Ozzy impacted the building with great force, and managed to get his hand on a window sill as he fell. His great weight in the suit threatened to tear it from the wall, and so he rapidly pulled himself up and into the now-critically teetering building. He made his way back to the stairs, and above him, heard gauss rifles and shotguns firing, and shouted into his comm that he was coming up, but received no response. He pounded up the stairs, slashing at the zerg all around him with his rifle bayonet, hoping they wouldn't drag him down. When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he was greeted with a blast of shotgun pellets to the chest, which sent him toppling backward, crushing a couple of zerglings.

"My God! Ozzy! We thought you were dead!" shouted a jubilant Max Hauser, who ran over to where Ozzy had fallen. Hauser shoved the shotgun into Ozzy's hand, who fired blindly into the oncoming Zerg as Hauser dragged him onto the roof, which was mostly clear of zerg thanks to the volume of fire Baird, Hauser, and Grimm put out, though it sloped dangerously.

Ozzy, inside his suit, had had the wind knocked out of him, and managed to choke out, "Thanks for shooting me, you bastard."

"Sorry about that. We hadn't been able to get in touch with you, so we assumed you were dead. You should have let us know you were coming."

Ozzy was about to say that he had, when he glanced at the comm display on his HUD, and realized his comms had been knocked out, probably by the fall. Instead, he simply said, "Yeah, okay. Turns out my comms are broken."

The other two men, though they looked happy to see him, couldn't spare their attention, as the zerg had taken advantage of the defenders' preoccupation with Ozzy's arrival, and had now managed to break through the bottleneck that Baird and Ozzy's section had held at the doorways, and they were swarming over the whole roof now, even as the building collapsed. "Hope you got that pickup, Captain," Ozzy shouted, as he began firing his own weapon. "Else we're screwed."

"Supposed to be coming soon. Good to see you, you asshole. And nice work," Baird said, as he cut down a hydralisk forcing its way through one of the doors opening onto the roof. The marines started lobbing the last of their grenades, even as they retreated to the farthest corner of the roof. It wasn't enough. "Well, at least we killed the ultra," Grimm snarled.

"Hey now, I killed the ultra," Ozzy snarked, continuing to fire.

At that moment, a medevac dropship crested the building, its double-mount gauss turrets scything brutally into the onrushing zerg. It's long, low ramp opened, and the four men threw themselves onto it, just as the building lost the ability to support itself, and collapsing. As they jumped, they were followed by several hydralisk spikes, two of which skewered one of the waiting medics and one of the marines aboard giving them covering fire. Another smashed into Ozzy's helmet, shearing off about half of it, but not impacting Ozzy's fragile skull. The force of the spike, however, sent Ozzy tumbling into the medevac, eventually coming to rest against the forward bulkhead, as the ship pulled some truly dangerous maneuvers and sent it rocketing towards the evac center. Mercifully, Ozzy lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2-Fleet

To all of the very few people waiting for an update, sorry it took so long, but law school just started back up again, which has complicated things, and sorry it's kinda short. To new readers, welcome and I hope you like it. My first fic, so brutal feedback is appreciated. Basically, this chapter sets up some of the plot. Next chapter, I'll return to the action, and maybe you'll get to meet Tosh and Zeratul, like it says up front.

* * *

Ozzy awoke suddenly, with a small gasp. A voice to his left said, "Hoo boy. That must have been a bad one."

"What?" Ozzy croaked, trying to sit up.

The person pushed him back down, saying, "Not a good idea, son. You're pretty screwed up. Just stay. And what I meant was that that must have been a bad nightmare. My brother used to get 'em, really bad. He had that same look on his face you had when you woke up, sometimes. But usually he sat bolt upright, screaming. You must have ice in your veins, boy," as he poured water into a sippy cup, which he handed to Ozzy.

"Who are you?" Ozzy asked, sipping the cold water.

"Alec Hackett. And you should probably call me 'sir.'"

"Why's that?"

"Because this is my ship. DNS _Bishamonten_, in drydock above Korhal. Got swarmed by corruptors while covering the Augustgrad evac. So we've got some down time. You, along with most of your surviving company, got transferred here when your brigade packed up after Fairstens was cleared."

"_Bishamonten_? That's a-"

"Battlecruiser, yeah. Like I said, you should call me 'sir.' Now, the dream. How bad was it?"

"Bad."

"Zerg?"

"Dunno. Don't remember much, just blood. A lot of it."

"Well, God knows we've seen enough of that shed. Between the Umojans and the Kel-Morians moving in, the Zerg, the Crown Prince, and that bastard Raynor, I'd be surprised if the Dominion survives. I'd be surprised if humanity survives in the sector, in fact. And that's assuming the Protoss don't come gunning for us for some goddamned unfathomable reason."

"How many of my company made it out? We had about eighty when that whole fracas started."

"Not many. About fifteen uninjured, and about 25 wounded made it out. At least twelve of those wounded won't make it."

"What about Baird, and my section?"

"Fine. Your man O'Neill's recovering well."

"What about the brigade? We were 2000."

"Already understrength. Well, I can't tell you for sure, since we didn't absorb all of the remnants, but probably no more than 200 uninjured, maybe that many wounded."

"Jesus," Ozzy said, his head dropping back to the small pillow.

"Weren't for nothing, though. About seven million civilians made it out through your evac point before it packed up."

Ozzy just stared at Hackett. "And how many died?"

"Maybe twice that. Fairstens got hit hard," he said, bluntly.

"There were civilians, in that building. Evac cutting corners, goddamn them."

"The one the ultra you killed destroyed? Baird briefed me," Hackett said, when Ozzy gave him a puzzled look at his recognition of more than the broad details of what had happened in Fairstens.

"Yeah. I just walked past them, even though I knew they were there. Why did I do that? Why? Baird had to restrain me from trying to get that Goliath pilot, and he was in the middle of a Zerg river."

"Captain Baird and your men were in that building. Did they try to save the civilians?"

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. There weren't any when I came out on the roof."

"Then they came to the same conclusion you did. There was nothing they could do. You, neither."

"But why didn't I try? That pilot was further gone."

"I guess that's up to you to decide."

"Just my luck."

"But think about this: you saved a lot of people, killing that ultra. Of course, it was ludicrously reckless and totally insane and I've half a mind to bring your captain up on charges for allowing it, but goddamn, it worked, even though it should never have, in any rational universe. But if even one ultra had gotten loose in the evac zone, hundreds of thousands could have died. You did a good thing, even if you are a completely batshit individual, of whom I'm more than a little frightened, honestly."

"And you captain one of the biggest ships in the sector."

"Yeah. Think about that, for just a second. That's how crazy you are, boy. Crazy enough that I might just recommend you for the Cross. Now go back to sleep. And you should _really_ start calling me 'sir' when you wake up."

"Yes, sir," Ozzy said, and slowly drifted back off to sleep, lifting the sippy cup to his brow in a mockery of a salute, as Hackett left, after which he dropped it to the infirmary floor.

* * *

Ozzy felt something impact his forehead. He opened his eyes, and was forced to blink rapidly, as a small amount of water streamed into his eyes. "Wake up. We're moving out," Baird said.

"What? Already?"

"Yep. The Bear's back on his feet. Get your section, and meet me in the shuttle bay."

"Wait, where exactly are we deploying to?"

"Where else, dumbass? The surface of Korhal. We're taking it back."  
"Oh, right. Because that's not insane."

"Not up to us."

"There are millions of Zerg down there by now."

"Yeah, and the evacuation's complete. Without us down there, they've got nothing to do but attack other core worlds. And did you really think we'd just leave the capital to them?"

"Seemed like the logical thing to do."

"After that stunt you pulled, do you really believe logic governs this universe?"

Ozzy considered for a moment, "Okay, fair point."

"And there's still a large Dominion presence down there. Without support, they'll be slaughtered, and I don't like the idea of leaving them."

"Leave no man behind? Really? That's like the oldest inspirational military shtick ever."

"Oldie but a goodie. And you aren't Jewish," Baird said, spinning on his heel.

"What?!" Ozzy shouted at his back

"Shtick. It's from Yiddish," he called over his shoulder. "You can probably find your men in the mess. Ten minutes."

* * *

After a few minutes of wandering, Ozzy found his way to the mess hall, where he did indeed find his section, shoveling unidentifiable food into their mouths, with apparent relish. They looked up, and all started trying to speak at once. Ozzy couldn't understand any of them, not with their mouths full. Ozzy cut through the babbling with, "Whatever you have to say, you can say it later. Baird needs us in the shuttle bay ASAP. We're redeploying."

"Where?" O'Neill asked, the first to force a giant ball of mush down his throat.

"Korhal. Reclaiming it." They all stared. "Yeah, that's what I said. Not up to us. And it's good to see you back on your feet, O'Neill."

"Heard I missed a lot, and that you're an absolutely crazy person."

"Don't tell me that's news to you," Ozzy said, turning to walk away

"Well, no. But I didn't know how deep it went. And I got left out. Little miffed about that."

"My heart bleeds. And you were missing half your leg."

"I suppose I was."

"Move!" Ozzy shouted, turning the corner into a corridor.

* * *

He arrived in the hangar a few seconds ahead of his men, finding what looked like about a full brigade, 4000 men, milling around an ungodly number of dropships, medevac and traditional. It took him a few seconds to find Baird, who was deep in conversation with a short, stocky man in a clean uniform and wearing the one star of a brigadier. "Captain Baird," Ozzy said, interrupting their conversation, "I was under the impression we had a job to do." Baird glared at him so viciously it seemed as though he was actually trying to kill Ozzy with the power of his hate alone. Ozzy was abruptly grateful Baird wasn't psionic.

"That we do, Sergeant Barnes," the general said, ignoring the interruption, and before Baird could murder Ozzy. "General Victor Sykes," extending his hand, which Ozzy shook.

"Good to meet you, general. I'd apologize for the interruption but-"

"But you've never apologized for anything in your entire life, have you?"

"Not to put to fine a point on it."

"I hear you're a crazy bastard. Is that true?"

"A fair assessment. But since the particular stunt you're thinking of worked, I prefer to think of it as a calculated risk."

"I'm sure. But I'm also willing to bet that you didn't appreciate just how insane it was until it was too late to turn back."

"Oh yeah."

"When did it hit?"

"Just after I jumped off the building."

"Sounds about right."

"So, this reinvasion seems a little thrown together. What's the deal?"

"Most of our forces are disembarking from the various ships we still have holding orbit, and most of those consolidating either onto battlecruisers, like this one, or Hercules assault ships. Small, surgical strikes will go in on dropships alone, but most d-ships won't hit atmosphere until the cruisers and Hercules have reentered."

"Strength?"

"About 220,000."

"You can't be serious."

"It's what we've got, plus a lot of Navy support. And we can't let them have Korhal."

"Why not? I was born on that piece of shit, and I don't want to go back there."

"Have you ever asked yourself why the Zerg are on Korhal?"

"For Mengsk, I'm sure. We all know Kerrigan wants his head."

"Nah, this isn't Kerrigan," he said, almost offhandedly denying the most prevalently held and basic assumption about the invasion.

"What?!" Baird, Ozzy, the rest of his section, and indeed anyone else within earshot cried. "Of course it's Kerrigan," Baird said.

"Sorry, Captain. Kerrigan hasn't been seen anywhere. According to our most recent intelligence, Kerrigan's on Aiur, trying to revive the Overmind. The Protoss are resisting," he said, having the undivided attention of most of the men in the hangar bay.

"What if we just missed seeing her?"

"The Queen of Blades, whatever she is now, is a media hound. Within hours of this war starting we knew she was involved. She's been waging a media campaign against Mengsk for months, not to mention Raynor's goddamned 'revolution.' That's why the Dominion's falling apart, and why the Umojans and Kel-Morians are so damned uppity. If Kerrigan were directing the Zerg attack, especially on Korhal, the seat of her hated enemy, we'd know."

"So who is it?"

"Hell if I know. Doesn't really matter. But still, why do you think they're on Korhal? It's got almost no value. Hell, it was rebuilt from a blasted ruin to satisfy the Emperor's ego. Demographic and industrial value, sure, but the pattern of Zerg attacks don't suggest they prioritize targets for those reasons. Military value, you could argue, but it's more that it was just so heavily fortified they'd would have done better just to avoid it. There's less well defended biomass out there. Which leaves what?"

"There's something else on Korhal the Zerg want," Hauser said, from Ozzy's elbow. "Something important. Conquest or extermination can't be the goal, not with their civil war."

"Exactly. No way they spare the resources. Something big, really big, must be on Korhal, if it's big enough for a Zerg faction, in the middle of a civil war, to invade the most heavily fortified human world in the sector. Something that big is worth keeping from them, I reckon."

"Fair enough," Ozzy said. "When are we leaving?"

"Right now."


	3. Chapter 3-Counterattack

Author's note: A couple more changes to tech. For one, Diamondbacks (the concept of which, if not the implementation, I loved in the game) are no longer Confederate relics; they're produced more or less alongside siege tanks, and serve as the true main battle tanks of the Dominion armies, due to the defensive inclination of siege tanks, though they're called Diamondback gunships, mainly because I like gunships (the word and the various vehicles so designated) and because they seem to be based on the Hammerhead Gunship, a hovering armored vehicle used as an MBT by the Tau in Warhammer 40k. Also, dropships are extremely heavily armed, which fits in with their role as an airborne armored personnel carrier. Further, Hercules dropships are used as heavy-lift combat transports by the Dominion military, instead of a Raynor's Raiders exclusive. As for the immediate future, I'll be working on chapters for Kerrigan and Ulrezaj. Further out, I'm pretty excited about introducing some Umojan characters, with their unique blend of Terran and Protoss technology (and their role in the overarching plot, which I've conceived of to be fairly significant, will be revealed), and there will be chapters on the Mengsks, Samir Duran/Emil Narud, and probably Raynor.

* * *

Strapped into his harness in the dropship, still nestled safely inside DNS _Bishamonten_'s hangar, Ozzy marveled at how the ship, entering Korhal's atmosphere, was able to shake so much without falling apart. "Either it's really well designed or incredibly badly designed!" he bellowed at Baird, strapped into a similar harness, meant to take Marines in full power armor, across the aisle from him.

"What?!" he responded

"Never mind!" Ozzy shouted back, and tried not to throw up his lunch. He failed, somewhat spectacularly, when the monstrous, careening ship began to rapidly decelerate, negative g-forces trying to squash him into the ceiling, the straps of his harness straining to keep him in place and his undersuit struggling to keep inertia from liquefying his internal organs anyway. Both succeeded, if only just, none of which made Baird, generously spritzed with upchuck, look any less furious at the vector of Ozzy's partially-digested mashed potatoes.

Ozzy, despite being encased in a full ton of the most sophisticated military technology known to man, managed to look sheepish when as he met Baird's eyes, burning with hate, for a half-second.

As the roar of their arrival cut out, Ozzy could hear batteries of laser cannons opening up, sterilizing the landing zone over which the flying city slowly came to a halt. With a jolt, the great vessel was hovering, all downward motion gone, adding some more tumbling to Ozzy's stomach. He had only begun to contemplate the trauma his body had undergone when the electromagnetic catapult to which the dropship was attached, not all that dissimilar to his modified gauss rifle's firing mechanism, flung the dropship, _Black Morgan's Ghost_, out the launch tube at terrifying speed. For an awful second, Ozzy thought he could literally feel his liver trying to squeeze through ribs three and four.

No sooner had they cleared the tube when the dropship's automated gauss turrets and rail grenade launchers began to hammer and thump. A second or two later, the d-ship started taking fire from hydralisks on the ground, and from swooping mutalisks that had penetrated _Bishamonten_'s terrific curtain of anti-air fire. The heavily armed and ungainly dropship's dorsal point-defense turret did its best to intercept the glaive wurms the mutas fired, but too many got through, burrowing into and exploding against the hull, opening rents in the ceiling and floor, and disabling their third engine. The ship buckled and dropped, sending Ozzy's stomach into further convulsions, but didn't fall out of the sky.

Through one particularly large hole, Ozzy saw a flight of missiles appear from smoke-smudged sky, slamming into the mutalisks, tearing them in half. Continual fire from the cloaked Wraiths cleared the way for _Black Morgan's Ghost_ to slam ungraciously into the ground, the loss of an engine precluding a controlled landing, some distance from its designated zone. As the d-ship bounced to a stop, it smashed a few unoccupied SCV suits, and left large, ugly skid marks across the concrete and planter beds of the once-pleasant municipal park that served as the brigade landing zone.

About a second before the ship came to a stop, the harnesses holding the forty marines of 1st Platoon automatically released, sending armored troopers toppling over one another a half-second later. The dropship's main hatch opened, and the marines started clambering out.

A few meters from the destroyed SCV suits were a small clump of blithe-looking men in overalls and baseball caps. The one in front, probably a foreman, Ozzy reasoned, took a step forward, chewing hard on a massive, unlit cheroot, and said, "Nicely done, there."

"Tell it to the pilot," Baird said

"Ain't it ironic, though, that a damaged d-ship destroyed the very things that could have repaired it?"

"My internal organs are too screwed up for irony. Are all you SCV pilots such weirdos?" Ozzy asked, as the rest of the platoon regained their footing  
"In my experience," he said, spinning on his heel, presumably to find replacement suits.

"Sideshow over. Bandit company, move out," Baird said over the company channel. "Deploy to the northeast corner. Ozzy, take your section and provide overwatch from that building," Baird said, pointing to one of the two buildings on either side of the street corner that fed into the park. As Ozzy and his men peeled off from the company, Baird told off two other marksman sections to secure and provide cover from two other buildings. Ozzy opened a channel to Baird and asked, "Just defense for now?"

"Looks like. Got a Herc coming in with much heavier equipment. Banshees, siege tanks, Goliaths and Diamondback gunships. Gotta clear pads for the Banshees and Vikings," presumably to supplement _Bishamonten_'s primarily infantry complement.

As the company took up defensive positions around the mouth of the road feeding into the park, Ozzy and his men took leaping bounds into the first-floor windows of their assigned building, hoping to avoid any ambush at the door. Fortunately, the building proved to be almost entirely Zerg free. When they emerged onto the top of the building, they quickly took stock of the surrounding streets, finding them filled with retreating Zerg. "Looks like the Zerg are retreating for now," Ozzy said to Baird.

"Regrouping, no doubt," he replied.

"None." Ozzy, though, continued to sweep the streets below and rooftops adjacent with his telescopic sight. He loosed a few rounds, mainly at stragglers or scouts, but without a lot of success. Suddenly, he felt an urge to scan a particular part of the skyline, to the southeast, nearer the Imperial, which was still under siege, and where the Emperor was rumored to still be. For the briefest instant, Ozzy could swear he saw he saw a bit of rifle and the swish of a dreadlock. He dismissed it and went back to scanning.

* * *

"Okay, he knows I'm here," the lone gunman said, apparently to empty air.

"Why?" a voice said inside his head

"I told him."

"Again, why?" the voice asked again

"He deserves to at least know it's coming."

"Are you sure this is the man?"

"No doubt. I'd know that rifle anywhere. He's definitely the man who killed Reese."

"Are you sure we need him? We're going out of our way as it is."

"Man like him, we can always use."

"Fine, but is it worth the time and the increased chance of detection?"

"We been working together long enough now you should be able to trust my judgment."

"I came to this planet with the number I judged necessary to get the job done. In six hundred of your years, I have yet to be wrong about such things. I would say my judgment outweighs yours."

"Not many men can do what he's done. Not many Protoss, either."

"Fine. But if this detour of yours causes this mission to implode…" the voice trailed off.

"You've made your point. Trust me, I wouldn't jeopardize this, brother. I want Mengsk as much as you want the hybrids, and they're a package now."

"I do trust you. Why, I do not quite know."

"Your faith is touching."

"Sarcasm, again. You Terrans are inordinately fond of it," the voice said, with a touch of asperity. "How do you intend to recruit him?"

"I'll think of something."


	4. Chapter 4-Gods and Men

Sorry this has taken so long, but I've been very busy. I also wanted to direct a special apology to Ragnarok666, because I promised to read his story and haven't done so. It's not apparent from this chapter, but will be made so in the next, but this chapter takes place about a month and half after the previous chapter. None of the action takes place on Korhal, but the basic status is this (the action returns to Korhal next chapter, and so this will be much more fully developed then): the Dominion reinvasion has stalled, but Dominion forces have linked up with the most substantial pockets of Dominion stragglers on the surface, especially around Mengsk's palace; both the Zerg and Dominion have suffered heavy casualties, both in space and on the ground. The following chapter brings in several new characters, including a few Umojan characters, and is intended to set up the plot for the rest of the story. One (probably) final character remains to be introduced, but he's waiting just off-screen, as it were, and will show up in the next chapter. I hope you enjoy my takes on the various canon characters. If there is anything particularly egregious or even mildly annoying about my portrayal, please let me know.

* * *

"Sir, we have an incoming hail," Matt Horner called across the bridge. He got no response. "Sir. Hail," he repeated. Nothing. Horner walked to the tiny, uncomfortable chair in which a person had somehow contrived to fall asleep in. Horner stretched out his hand, and tapped the bridge of the sleeping man's nose. He awoke with a start, unkempt brown hair flying in every direction. "Wuh? Matt?" the man said, recognizing the pseudo-fascistic uniform his chief subordinate wore.

"Not sleeping again?"

"Never."

"Back when we were in the thick of it, I understood. Kerrigan, Char 2.0, all of that. Now you've got no excuse not to be resting."

"Still got a revolution to run."

"Which, I might point out, you can't do on no sleep."

"Fair enough," James Raynor, terrorist, revolutionary hero, do-gooder extraordinaire, pirate, mercenary, rebel, humanitarian, said as he heaved himself somewhat ungraciously out of the constricting confines of the chair.

"Seriously, though. You've got no excuse. This revolution isn't just _Hyperion_ any more. Now we've got the Umojans, the Daelaam, half the Dominion. Even those Morian assholes support us."

"From time to time."

"Don't change the subject. We've got enough resources now that this thing doesn't need to run on just you anymore. You could take a few days off. At least, you could get some sleep. And stop drinking."

"Well, now you're just bein' unreasonable."

"Fair enough. One thing at a time."

"Sure, Mom."

Horner heaved a huge sigh, and instead of rising to that, simply said, "You've got a hail incoming."

"Now who's tryin' to change the subject?" Raynor needled. Before Horner could respond, though, he asked, "Who from?"

"Doesn't say."

"Which can only mean…"

"Yeah. Kerrigan."

"Yep. Surprised we haven't heard from her sooner, what with Dominion remnant media shouting that she's behind Korhal. Put her through," Raynor said, shaking off his hangover.

"Hello, Jim," the face in the screen said, its too-dark green eyes glittering with slightly malicious humor, a look Raynor was getting tired of seeing.

"Sarah. Long time," Raynor said, attempting to be serious.

"Been busy," she said, her yellow pupils contracting further, the laughter intensifying.

"So I've heard. You know you've put me in a bad spot with this Aiur thing, right?"

"Oh yes, Jim, it's all about you and your problems," she mocked. "Never mind the fate of the universe. Or even my problems."

"Now that just ain't fair," Raynor said, attempting to match her tone by slipping into the country bumpkin voice he sometimes used to encourage his enemies to underestimate him.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry. I know you worked hard to get the Daelaam to support you. And I'm sure it's hard being my friend and theirs."

"They're asking for my help on Aiur," he said, quietly.

"What? What did you tell them?"

"Hold on a moment, Sarah," Raynor said, turning to face Horner. "Transfer this call to my cabin, Matt." Horner nodded to a bridge tech, and Kerrigan's face disappeared from the screen.

"Everything all right, sir?" he asked.

"Dunno yet." Raynor said, spinning on his heel to leave the bridge.

When Raynor arrived in his cabin, and switched on the comm display, Kerrigan asked again "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing, yet. Told them I had my hands full in Dominion space. Which is true. But at some point they _will_ want an answer. If you don't make your peace with them before that, I'm going to have to pick a side."

"And you're going to pick the Protoss."

"Can you blame me?"

"You have no idea how badly I want to," she said, humor completely drained from her eyes, bitterness inflecting her words.

"I can't finish this thing without the Umojans. The Dominion's weak, and getting weaker every day, but even with everything I've got, I can't win. Not even with Valerian's cruisers, after the losses on Char." At the mention of Char, hate, contempt, despair, grief, and joy chased themselves across Kerrigan's face. "And if I come out against the Protoss, hell, the Umojans won't just abandon me, they might declare war. And without Umojan guns and money to back me up, the Morians jump in. And then those leeches get the whole damned sector, or the Dominion takes it back. That, I will not allow."

"But what about…" she trailed off, not quite able to bring herself to mention whatever remained of their relationship. "Doesn't that count for anything?" she almost pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," Raynor almost snarled, his face hard. "But that ain't even relevant, not anymore. I haven't come this far, haven't ordered thousands of good people to their deaths, to throw it away for you, for me, or for us. You have no idea how badly I want to," he said, his voice very quiet now. "But I won't allow all of that, all those deaths, to be in vain. Not for anything. Not for anyone. Not ever."

Resignation and grief filled Kerrigan's eyes. "I understand. God knows, I know what it's like carrying the weight of the dead," she said, suddenly seeming small and weary, the same way Raynor felt, all too often.

"Surprised it hasn't crushed you," he said harshly, regretting it immediately, but still struggling not to throw her atrocities in her face. _Not the same person_, he told himself. _The person who did those things is dead_.

"Who says it hasn't? I may be free of the infestation, but I'll never be free of the things I did."

"It wasn't you," Raynor said, barely a whisper, trying desperately to believe it.

"Of course it was. And even if I do save the universe, it won't be enough."

Raynor couldn't think of anything else to say, and so changed the subject, "Did you have something you wanted us to broadcast?"

"Yeah. Sending."

"We'll get this onto as many screens as we can. But the Dominion's becoming resistant to our hacks. No promises."

"Thanks, Jim."

"Yeah. See ya," Raynor said, and cut the communication. Heaving a sigh, he keyed his door, and walked out. From behind him, a voice said, "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Raynor said, stopping, but not looking back.

"Fair enough. You know, you never told me why she's trying to revive the Overmind. She was his slave; doubt she wants to be one again." Horner said.

Silently grateful that Horner wasn't going to press him, as he had feared the captain would, said, "Yeah, but I doubt she'd bring him back far enough to re-enslave her."

"But why? Seems like a lot of work for not much benefit."

"Well, remember that the Overmind's vision I saw in Zeratul's crystal came through Tassadar."

"Doubt Kerrigan trusts him."

"Yeah."

"But why would she trust the Overmind? Seems like the whole slavery thing would militate against it."

"Well, I don't think she trusts the Overmind. But probably trusts him more than Tassadar."

"Which might not be saying much."  
"No. Fortunately, though, we've got more pressing problems. Those, at least, I understand. Mostly, anyway."

"That's why I'm glad I'm not in charge."

"One day, Matt, you will be. Savor it."

"Don't say that, sir. You've got plenty of fight left."

"It's not the fight I'm worried about. Got more than enough of that, you're right. I just don't think I'm cut out for what comes after the fight's over. Don't think I'm cut out for civilian government."

"And you think I am?"

"I _know_ you are, Matt. Part of why I picked you, why I made you second in command of this revolution. Compared to politics, war's easy. And one thing I'll say for Mengsk is that the man knew how to build a government." Horner looked momentarily shocked, thinking his superior had actually praised Mengsk for something. Reacting, Raynor continued, "Oh, sure, it was an oppressive, totalitarian insult to the concept of good governance built on lies, brutality and truly twisted cult of personality, but damn if it didn't do what it was supposed to do, for a while at least."

"Maximize Mengsk's personal power?"

"Exactly. But your government will have to do something much harder, and last longer. That's a more difficult task than you can possibly imagine. But one I know you can handle."

"I'm not the messiah, sir."

"That's exactly what he said."

"Very funny. And that's not really what he said."

"Fine, I'm paraphrasing. Sue me."

"In what court?"

"Keep it up, maybe I'll replace you."

"But you really think I build a government based on consensus that'll ensure peace, freedom, justice, and security?"

"Like I said, Matt, I _know_ you can do it.

"What about Valerian? Whatever comes after the Dominion, he'll be a part of it, whether we like it or not."

"Unless he dies."

"I don't think that's likely, not unless we assassinate him, which I know we're not going to do. He seems to have as good a sense for self-preservation as his father."

"It is a conundrum."

"I think he could help. Maybe a lot."

"Well, he's already promised to help with those cruisers of his. Which, I'll point out, he keeps finding ways not to do."

"He claims they're still undergoing repairs. The Umojans are getting tired of having him around. And you're trying to change the subject again; I meant that he could help after the fight's over."

"I know. I just don't want to think about that. He's a Mengsk, and we know Mengsks don't mix well with democracy. And once a Mengsk…"

"Always a Mengsk, I know. You don't trust him. Fine, neither do I. But he's not the man that killed billions for the sake of power. I know you're worried he'll try to subvert whatever government we build after we kill the Dominion, but I don't think it's that likely. Not impossible, no, but not likely."

"He's no Arcturus, I'll give him that much. But he hasn't had the same opportunities, which is most of what worries me. And none of that means he's nothing like his father. I just worry about how much."

"Like I said, I think he could actually help."

"Well, when it comes right down to it, it'll be up to you. And I know you'll make the right decision, even if I don't like it. And, of course, if he does try anything, you'll be there to stop him."

"Exactly. But I think he's sincere when he says he wants to be better than his father."

"Which wouldn't be hard."

"Yeah, you've said that more than once. And you're deliberately missing the point."

"You know, it's annoying as hell, you calling me out on my attempts to duck this conversation."

"I try, sir."

"I hope you're right about him."

"Me, too. But if I'm not, we can just shoot him."

"Now you're talking."

* * *

"Your time has ended, slave," the swirling ball of red and black lights said, its words projected telepathically across the huge lab. The person he addressed didn't look up, but merely replied, "Oh, do tell," its voice amplified unnaturally.

"You are no longer useful, so you will be destroyed," the cloud said, its lights pulsing furiously as it built up for a psionic attack.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," his target said, nonchalantly flipping through pages on his tablet computer.

"You think we cannot destroy you, slave?"

"I don't think you want to try. If you do, I will have to defend myself. You may not survive. And even if you could kill me, you're far too infantile to finish this on your own."

"Infantile?! How dare you!"

"Oh, shut up. You're boring me. Get back to work."

"We can create them on our own. You have taught us all we need to know."

"Maybe. For children, you're remarkably skilled, if prone to tantrums. But even if you could, you know you couldn't create them fast enough and in sufficient quantity to satisfy him."

"Our speed would quickly increase, without you here, holding us back. Intentionally, we suspect."

"Again, you're boring me. And wasting time. Get back to work."

"Do not presume to dictate to us, worm. You are his tool, an instrument, to be used and disposed of. We? We are his heir. And you are ours to do with as we see fit."

The man finally reacted, surging from his seat, leaping across the lab, landing nimbly in front of the swirling lights that made up Ulrezaj's form. "His _heir_? How dare _you_," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "He has no heir, prodigals. He will rule until the end of time, once we pave the way. You are mewling grovelers, desperately prostrating yourselves in the hope he won't extinguish you along with all the life in this universe. You think yourselves his heir, greater than me? The Khalai imprisoned you, weakling. I had to free you. You saw how quickly I killed Zamara, who bound you and herself to that crystal, and yet you think yourself the stronger? You are nothing without me."

"We were outnumbered, already weakened. At our full powers, as now, none of them could have stood against us."

"You would not have been, had you not already been defeated many times. Some of those times, by Terrans. _Terrans_. Barely embryonic, only nominally sapient, even they proved too much for you. You are ants, useful, certainly, but nothing more. Even compared to the hybrids we now create, you are as nothing. Never forget that, and he may spare you. May even give you something to rule."

The lights pulsed violently, Ulrezaj's anger threatening to explode and destroy the lab, but he still ground out, "This is not over, Duran. We will not submit to you."

"Fine, don't. Submit to him. And, as you said, I am his instrument. I am the conduit of his will. Accept that his will, for now, is that we work together to create enough hybrids to lead the hordes that will conquer the universe."

"We still do not understand why we allow the Terrans to create the Zerg-dominant hybrids. It is obscene, allowing them to defile perfection with their machines and their horrid bodies. Much like yours."

Samir Duran smiled wryly, considering his own form, a grotesque mix of human, Zerg, and Protoss, momentarily. "True. And, in truth, I do not know. The Fallen One has not deigned to inform me of the full sweep of his plans. I merely accept that this is how it must be."

"As he wills, then."

"Exactly."

* * *

"ETA to the rendezvous point: two minutes, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Olvera. Carry on," William Roland replied, looking towards the large screen dominating the front half of his bridge, in which an old, beat-up Confederate-era _Behemoth_-class cruiser steadily grew. "Serviceable, certainly, but nowhere near the state of the art, not even in Dominion space," Commander Adam Fletcher, his chief engineer, said from his station at the far end of the bridge.

"I'll remind you, Adam, that the Terran Dominion no longer exists."

"Ah yes. How could I forget? Maybe it's the fleets they still fly, the armies they still deploy, and the planets they still tax that make it hard for me to remember that it no longer exists."

"It's the Council's official policy."

"Yes. The wisdom of which remains to be seen."

"True. But I've known at least one man on that ship for long enough to doubt we backed the wrong horse in this particular race. Especially since the invasion of Korhal."

"Dominion's on the ropes, no doubt, but it's nowhere near out yet. Except in the official sense," Fletcher said, grinning.

Roland returned it with a small smile, replying, "And don't count that ship out, either. She's been through, and survived to tell about, more than just about any ship in the sector."

"Which is why I'm willing to trust your faith in your old friend over there."

"Captain, we have a hail incoming," Olvera said again.

"On screen, if you please." An image appeared, of a young man in a uniform that would have been ostentatious when new, but was now just as battered as his surroundings. "Admiral Horner," Roland said to the screen, saluting crisply, "nice to finally meet you. I've heard good things."

"As I have about you, Captain," the face replied, returning the salute. "Got someone here who wants to talk to you."

"I'd like to hear from the rascal myself," Roland said, as the young face was replaced by a significantly older-looking one. "William Roland. As I live and breathe."

"James Raynor. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?"

"A lot more than we ever planned for when you threw that brick into the Beer Hut's window."

"Ah, good times. You never forget your first criminal act, do you?"

"First time I'd ever seen more than about twenty credits. So, no."

"But is that where all this really started?"

"Maybe. Who really knows? But here we are."

"How we got here, that we didn't plan for. But I know I never aspired to be much more than a dirt farmer, back then, and I doubt yours were any higher. Now look at us."

"Well, once I became a cop I figured I'd do that for the rest of my life. Though I doubted I'd survive the Guild Wars."

"Speaking of being a cop, when'd you figure out it was me you were chasing, all those years ago?"

"Took me longer than I'd like to admit, considering all the shenanigans we got up to."

"Well, I'll say this for your skills, you came closer to catching me than anyone ever did. Although, you'd never have gotten that close if I'd thought you were a threat. I underestimated you, I admit."

"With the way the magistrate was stonewalling my investigation, I was pretty sure he was in someone's pocket."

"And that was why I didn't think you were a threat. The magistrate kept telling me he'd keep you off my back. So much for that."

"I was just surprised a big-time criminal like yourself was even on Mar Sara."

"Yeah. Wasn't my idea. My bosses asked me to, and saying 'no' wasn't really an option. I never actually learned the full picture. In fact, it was that botched job that made me go freelance, though I did have to fight off my old associates' people for quite a while afterward. Which is how I ended up in Umojan space. Big mistake, from the criminal perspective."

"They're a lot less tolerant of crime out there, that's for sure. Which makes me wonder why they gave you a commission."

"You've read my file, you know why."

"That's the official line, which I doubt is the truth, especially where you're concerned."

"Shockingly, the file tells the complete truth. They caught me in short order, and offered me amnesty in exchange for service in their navy. I guess they thought my particular skill set would make for a good officer."

"And they were right, if the rest of your file is true."

"For the most part."

"So, you ready for this?"

"As long as you've got more than just _Hyperion_. _Ajax_ is tough as hell and has even more firepower, but two ships against everything the Dominion's throwing at Korhal is pretty much suicide."

"Have you so little faith? I've built up quite a fleet over the last year. Why do you think Matt's an admiral now?"

"Because Valerian made himself one and, even though he's only nominally part of your alliance, you couldn't let him outrank your second in command?"

"Well, that too. But thanks to defections and capture, I've got twenty-seven cruisers, not counting Valerian's, which he's being ominously stingy with."

"I've met him. He's not that bad. Bit arrogant, occasionally pretentious, but let he who is never either of those things cast the first stone. Not everything he does that you don't agree with is ominous."

"Oh, don't you start, too. Matt's been trying to get me to bring him all the way in. Not going to happen, at least not until he commits with those cruisers. Until then, he's just another goddamned Mengsk."

"Have you ever considered that he's holding his cruisers back _because_ you're shunning him, because you won't make him a full member of your 'I hate the Dominion' coalition?"

"…To be honest, not really. I thought he was just being an asshole."

"Of course you did, because you swore to murder his father. Such things tend to screw with your perspective."

"Feels like someone would have mentioned that to me, though."

"They probably tried. You just refused to listen."

"That is so…possibly true. Goddamn it."

"Let's face it, Jim. Mengsks are your blind spot. You give a little, maybe he gives a little. Or maybe he even gives a lot. Won't know until you try. And you're going to need those cruisers."

"True. Goddamn you and your reasonableness, Bill."

"On the other hand, he could be holding back because he wants to save the cruisers to use for leverage after the Dominion dies."

"That was my second thought, after being an asshole."

"But I doubt it, or at least I doubt that's his main objective. Like I said, I met him. He told me he wants in. But if you do keep the door slammed on him, the chances of him using those cruisers against you afterward go up and up."

"Fine, you've made your point. I'll talk to him. But right now, it's time to invade Korhal," Raynor said, as the various sensor displays scattered around the bridge lit up with dozens of contacts. The fleet had arrived. "This is the endgame, Bill. We're going to take Korhal from the Zerg, hold it against the Dominion, and then we're going blow up Mengsk's fucking palace. With him inside."


	5. Chapter 5-Oracle

Had a lot of fun writing this chapter, hope you enjoy reading it as much. One thing, though, that I'd really like feedback on is the use of street names, which I made up or cribbed from random San Francisco Bay Area cities on Google Maps. I decided to use them because I thought it helped me visualize the strategic situation, and hope that they'll do the same for you. But I worry that they may either simply not make sense, end up being inconsistent, or perhaps unnecessarily limiting. Please, tell me what you think. Also, I've just barely introduced a new Zerg unit in this chapter, the impaler. When I started writing this chapter, I realized I had a bit of a problem. I had (mostly accidentally) written roaches as quite a bit weaker than they are in the game, and so I needed a much tougher Zerg unit to counter Diamondbacks (short of ultralisks), which I've made a little more powerful than they are in the campaign. I wanted to use WoL lurkers, since they've got the right health, armor, and speed, but the wrong attack, obviously. And so I looked into HoS, and found that there's going to be an evolution of the lurker called the impaler, which I decided to make the Zerg's standard main battle tank type unit. As to the things I stole from other works, Michelle 'Mike' Ryan comes straight from Honor Harrington, and addressing female officers as 'sir' I got from the Tour of the Merrimack series, as well as a certain nickname. And yes, I replaced the rockets on Banshees with railguns, because I like railguns.

* * *

"Sir, we've got a problem."

"Got a lot of problems, Mr. Lorne, not the least of which are the Zerg. Care to be more specific?" Captain Alec Hackett tried not to snap.

"Yes, sir. Approximately seventy unidentified contacts just appeared on the outskirts of the system."

"IFF?"

"A veritable shit-ton but….one of them is definitely Umojan. And one is similar to one of the dozen or so IFFs we have on file for Raynor's _Hyperion_."

"That is a problem." He turned to face his communications officer, saying, "Mr. Jamison, get me Admiral Ryan."

"Yes, sir," the young officer said, hammering on his keyboard. A moment later, Admiral Michelle Ryan's middle-aged appeared on the screen at Hackett's station. "Admiral. Looks like the other shoe just dropped."

"Indeed. I've already got the fleet moving to intercept, but you and your escorts are closest to them, so I'd suggest you withdraw a bit, just in case they decide to start sprinting."

"With respect, sir, I'd like do some recon, get a better idea of their composition."

"You're not a fighter pilot anymore, Alec. You're driving around that big fat bus, and if you bring it too close to them, you won't be able to get away. And then I've got a flaming wreck to deal with. Just thinking about the paperwork makes me cringe."

"Your concern is touching, Mike."

"I try. And that's 'sir' to you. Send one of your escorts."

"You're no fun, sir."

"No. But if being fun means we lose this fight, I'd say it's a small price."

"Can't argue with that. I'll send Harker and the _Poitiers_, if you've no objection."

"None. Report back as soon as you have something."

"Yes, sir. Not as if we didn't have enough to deal with, now this."

"Don't tell me you didn't know these were the end times for the Dominion."

"Well, of course I did, but I had hoped it wouldn't end all at once."

"You thought they'd obligingly come at us one at a time?"

"No, I guess I didn't actually _think_ they would, but I hoped."

"You're far too romantic for your rank, Alec."

"Maybe you're not romantic enough."

* * *

Captain Lauren Hastings was having a very bad day. She had already lost three of her choppers and pilots, and then she and her remaining fliers had been waved off an airfield about three minutes before it was completely overrun, and now that she was back on the ground she was exhausted and keyed up at the same time. She lay on a cot just inside the door of the airfield's pilot barracks, trying to snatch twenty minutes of sleep before she and the rest of Falcon squadron had to go back up. She stared at the heavy door leading out to what had been an enormous parking lot, through which she heard the low, thunderous rumble of shock cannons, the rapid, the thrumming of VTOL engines, the percussive whining of gauss rifle fire, the stomping of ultralisks, the shrieking of mutalisks, the screams of the dying. Her attempts to rest were not helped by the presence of about a hundred full body bags, piled into a makeshift pyramid, in the area that used to be the barracks' common area. Forcing her eyes closed, her thumb unconsciously flicked against the cap of the small bottle she gripped in her left hand, containing the amphetamines she had needed to remain effective over the last forty hours of solid combat flying, a reminder that she'd need to take even more in a few minutes, for what she was told would be her last sortie for two days. She doubted she'd get even eight hours off.

Just as she managed to relax slightly, the door swung inward, pushed by a burly arm belonging to her squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Jonas Hallander, who said, quietly, "Sorry Laurie. Time to go."

"_Fuck_," she breathed, hauling herself into a sitting position and smoothing her red hair back, "Okay. I'm coming."

"I wish I could ground you, but I need everyone I've got right now. Got reinforcements coming in again tomorrow, so you'll have some time off then."

"I know. I know I have to go back up. But," she said, managing a small smile, "I've been pushing my luck a little, lately. Don't know if I'll come back down from this one in one piece."

"You will. You're one of the best. So pop a few more of those heinous things, and you'll be up on a hospital ship getting your stomach pumped before you know it."

"Oh, that sounds like a fun way to spend my down time," she said, standing and chuckling quietly.

"Well, you're no good to our great and wise emperor if you die of amphetamine poisoning," he said, smirking annoyingly.

"You really know how to make a girl feel valuable, Colonel."

"Just doing my part."

"I know. Thanks," she said, uncapping the bottle and shaking out two pills, which she dry-swallowed.

"You're getting good at that."

"Doubt that bodes well."

"No. Probably not."

By the time she had settled into the cockpit of her Banshee, the drugs had kicked in and Hastings was starting to feel like she might just pull this off. She ran through her recently-changed pre-flight check, finding that her engines, guns, and the pair of rapid-fire anti-armor railguns, stripped off the corpses of Diamondback MBTs, which had replaced the Backlash rocket pods as Falcon squadron's primary armament, due to a lack of rockets and an abundance of dead tanks. The gunship's cloaking generator, however, had been knocked out about a month ago and had never been fixed, so she skipped over that step in her check. She had plenty of fuel, a full magazine of cannon shells, and three hundred rounds for each of the railguns, while her navigation, target and objective data had successfully updated. "Falcon 2-2, 2-5, report readiness," Hastings pinged to the two remaining copters in her flight.

"2-6, this is 2-2, finished preflight, everything green, except for the cloak, of course," Lieutenant Cassidy responded.

"2-6, 2-5, same here, but my cloak's actually working," said 1st. Lieutenant Connor Harris.

"Excellent. Spin 'em up, boys," she said, engaging her engines as she did so. "Falcon 6, this is 2-6, finished preflight, everything green, flight reports the same; good to go."

"Copy that, 2-6. Squadron reports green. Prepare for takeoff," Hallander said, after receiving affirmative pings from each of the other helicopters, with the conspicuous absence of Falcons 2-1, 2-3, and 2-4, whose broken aircraft littered the shattered city.

"Roger," she said, the downdraft from her turbofans increasing exponentially as she fed power to the engines, forcing the copter's eight tons of steel and ordinance to float a few inches off the smoothed tarmac.

"All right boys and girls, let's get this over with. Tower's cleared our takeoff and egress vectors; full power," and the twenty-one remaining gunships of Falcon squadron flung themselves into the air. "Good. You all have your targets, so stick with your flight leaders and take 'em out. Good hunting," Hallander said, as the three flights streaked off in three different directions.

"So, where we going first, Laurie?" Cassidy asked over the flight comm.

"The 7th Armored is counterattacking up Imperial Boulevard, downtown, trying to link up with the 1st Marines out of the Korhal Stock Exchange, hopefully catching a big chunk of the local brood in a pocket. They need support."

"Hope they get more than just three Banshees," Harris said.

"All of Gargoyle's giving support with us, with Punisher and half of Checkmate on the marine side."

"Well, that's something."

"Had better be enough; we don't close off this bulge, we'll probably lose most of our Augustgrad airfields."

"Then let's make sure that doesn't happen," Cassidy said

"Agreed."

Five minutes later, Hastings' flight and Gargoyle squadron were hovering below the tops of the high-rises lining the exceptionally wide Imperial Boulevard, receiving streams of data from the spy satellites in orbit. "Looks like eight thousand 'lings, eight hundred hydras, five hundred roaches, a hundred impalers, twenty ultras, a queen, and a few infestors for good measure down there, probably three times that number between us and the 1st Marines, ten times that in the pocket we hope to create," Colonel Thomas Cartwright, commander of Gargoyle squadron and of the 9th Close Air Support Wing, said over their task force channel.

"How many air breeds?" Hastings asked

"Unknown. They're in their nests, satellites can't see them. Got a squad of Vikings on standby, not to mention the Goliaths on the ground, so hopefully we won't have to worry too much."

"I always worry, sir."

"Give you ulcers."

"A risk I'm willing to take."

"Then I wish you luck…Uh, getting a message from General Karlsen. His troops are starting their push in one minute. Take your flight to the east, you'll support 4th Battalion on that flank."

"Yes, sir," she said, as her Banshees strafed their way across the block, at the end of which was massed about a hundred Diamondback gunships and a thousand power armored infantry, preparing to break out onto Fulton Street, running parallel to Imperial Boulevard. Another three Banshees moved the opposite direction, toward Newcomen Avenue, where a similar flank force massed.

* * *

About two miles north of Hastings was the 1st Marine division, deployed variously around the KSE, at the extreme eastern flank of which Oswald Barnes and Bandit company were swiftly running out of ammo. "Captain, how much longer do we have to hold here? Because this position is quickly becoming untenable," their position being the intersection of Newcomen and Arden, the street running in front of the four-block bulk of the KSE.

"How perceptive," Wallace Baird said, gazing out at an ocean of carapace over his HUD sights, against which four understrength Marine companies were having to hold. "We have to hold out until General Riker is ready to start the attack towards 7th Armored."

"Did the general say how long that would take?"

"Colonel Kojima told me it would take ten minutes fifteen minutes ago."

"Awesome. What are we waiting on?" he said, firing a burst of tungsten spikes that caved in a roach's turtle-like carapace from the third floor of building that had been violently deprived of its top floor, overlooking 12th Battalion's main defensive position.

"Banshees. Checkmate squadron got ambushed on their way here, needed some emergency repairs," Baird said, firing a volley of rifle grenades over the low, hastily constructed wall he sheltered behind, near 12th Battalion's right flank.

"Shouldn't we just go without them?"

"The Banshees we were supposed to have were already the bare minimum."

"What about naval support?"

"All dried up. Don't know for sure, but I heard Raynor's fleet and his Umojan buddies showed up. If that's true, then I'd say they're a little preoccupied."

"And just when we thought things couldn't get any worse."

"Things can always get worse, you know that better than I."

"Don't remind me," Ozzy said, as he failed to avoid completely a flurry of hydralisk spikes, losing the front half of his left pauldron in the process.

Slamming his second-to-last magazine of gauss spikes into his modified rifle, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a burst of gauss fire, which crippled a group of roaches about to leap over the wall sheltering Rocket company, on the battalion's left flank. Ozzy whipped around, targeting the area through his scope, but he saw nothing except a single gauss spike with a smiley face drawn on it, standing up on its end precisely where Ozzy had seen the fire come from. He opened his comm back to Baird and asked, "Cap, you know if we've got any Scout Sniper teams around here? Maybe using gauss rifles for some reason? And maybe with an annoying sense of humor?"

"Like yours?"

"A little," Ozzy replied

Baird chuckled as he reloaded his grenade launcher and said, "No. General Riker recalled them all, having them hunt down infestors."

Before he could ask any more questions, the intersection of Arden and Mack, one block to the east of 12th Battalion, exploded in a small volcano of rubble, pulverized masonry, twisted steel and shattered glass as four ultralisks attempted to turn onto Arden, mid-charge. As the urban rockslide subsided, the ultras managed to alter their course, heading straight for 4th Battalion's exposed flank, as their defensive position was oriented towards the south, where they expected 7th Armored to come from. "I don't think that trick's gonna work twice, if you were wondering," Ozzy said over his comm as he turned his rifle on the things that were probably going to slaughter his company.

"Funny," Baird said, as Joker, Bandit, and Nomad companies frantically attempted a fighting retreat, with Aztec company fighting a hasty rearguard against the smaller breeds from the south. A voice cut in over battalion comms, "12th Battalion, no support is forthcoming, but I've been ordered to hold this position. It's been an honor," Lieutenant Colonel Toyoza Kojima said, as the ultras closed to within 400 meters of the battalion's retreating back. "It might be worth a shot, though," Baird said, holding down the trigger on his rifle, sending dozens of ineffectual shots shattering on the ultra's carapace.

"Too fast," Ozzy said, trying and failing to target the ultra's eyes as they came within 200 meters. "Been fun," Ozzy appended, not even attempting to retreat from his position.

"You're a bastard."

"I love you, too, Cap." The ultras were within a hundred meters, shrugging off thousands of gauss rounds and dozens of Punisher grenades. Just as they came within seventy-five meters of destroying the building from which Ozzy and his section fired, a massive flood of adrenaline poured into his bloodstream, giving him the perception that time had virtually stopped. In that unreal moment, a shape came rocketing around a corner, just fifty meters behind 12th's battalion's soon-to-be-pulverized position, followed a half second later by nineteen more.

And then another voice, a half-crazed scream, cut across their battalion comms: "FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY, HIT LIKE A **FREIGHT** **TRAIN**! ORACLE COMPANY, FIRE _FIRE_ _**FIRE**_!"

From inside the lead Diamondback gunship, Oracle 6, Captain Jacob 'Crash' Coleman, screamed until his vocal cords seized in pain, while his gunner, laughing maniacally, mashed down the triggers on the tank's twin-linked railguns, sending thirty one-kilogram slugs slashing into the lead ultralisk's head at 15,000 m/s. The massive, two-hundred ton animal simply imploded, hit by similar bursts from a dozen other pairs of railguns. Approaching the fleeing battalion, Oracle company boosted themselves ten meters into the air, sailing over the 12th to place themselves between the Terrans and the three other ultralisks, slamming into their huge, trunk-like legs, tripping them on the hovertanks' bulk. The tanks that didn't impact the ultras whipped around, pouring rail fire into them point-blank from all directions, while the vehicles that had tripped the ultras boosted out from underneath the monsters' crushing weight, their frontal armor showing huge impact dents. Thirty seconds after Oracle company appeared, all that remained of the ultras was a small river of blood and liquefied organs.

Atop his building, Oswald Barnes lay quite still, twitching slightly, as his chest heaved inside his armor, laughing uncontrollably. A minute later, gasping for air, he noticed that every one of his comm channels was choked with the same relieved, ridiculous laughter that had gripped Ozzy. "12th, apparently I was wrong about the support," Kojima said over the battalion comm, the sheer, ludicrous understatement not helping his battalion get ahold of themselves.

"Not really, Colonel," came a voice over the same channel, which Ozzy eventually identified as the screamer, "I'm here against orders. Hope you don't mind if I ask you to put in a good word at my court martial."

"Not at all, Captain-."

"Coleman, Jacob. But you can call me 'Crash,' or, if you're boring, Oracle 6. And, in that case, my company is at your disposal until the MPs come for me."

"Still have a flank to secure."

"My pleasure," he responded, as the other half of his armored company, composed entirely of the massive Marauder suits, began fanning out, supporting 12th Battalion platoons, finally able to stand again, in clearing the buildings surrounding the intersection, and in establishing additional nanocrete defensive lines to the east and south. Just as they were finishing, a pair of white-painted dropships flew into the intersection, their powerful speakers blaring, "This is the Provost-General. Oracle 6, surrender yourself and your company immediately for confinement and charging. Comply immediately or you will be fired upon." Their many gun turrets trained, pointedly, onto Oracle's D-backs.

A cacophony of voices sounded below, as 12th Battalion vocalized their less-than-favorable opinion of the white helmets, raising their own gauss rifles and Punisher grenade launchers. For his part, Ozzy sighted the cockpit of the lead d-ship, as he prepared to try to hail it to express his own displeasure. He stopped when he noticed that the ships had been forcibly patched into 12th's battalion channel, allowing everyone to hear Colonel Kojima as he shouted, "Hey, assholes! If you want them, you'll have to go through the 12th. And last time I checked, we've got more than enough firepower to turn you both into flaming wrecks. So why don't you pricks fuck off back to whatever gaping asshole shat you out, and we'll all surrender for court-martial when the Zerg aren't trying to eat our faces. Or, better yet, let actual soldiers use those d-ships for something that might help win this war."

"Colonel Kojima, stand down imm-"

"_You_ have twenty seconds to comply."

"Stand _down_, Colonel."

"Fifteen. Hey, Barnes, fire a warning shot."

"Roger," Ozzy said, firing a single round, which shattered the lead dropship's windshield.

"Next one goes through your number two engine. Five."

"This isn't over, Colonel," the Provost commander said, as his aircraft lazily, reluctantly turned to go.

"Thank God for that. Wouldn't want things to get boring. Now fuck off," Kojima finished, booting the Provost ships from their battalion comms, as a cheer went up from all five assembled companies. "Shut up, all of you," he said, curtly, all business once again. "All of you need to understand that what just happened was mutiny. You know what that means, and how serious it could be for all of us. I won't say it can never happen again, because I wouldn't put it past Dominion High Command to pull even worse stunts than that, but you do need to understand. Sound off by companies."

After the five companies had signaled their understanding, Baird opened a private channel to Ozzy, saying, "Mutiny. I just hope I survive so I can tell my father."

"Oh, yes, you the rebellious Old Family black sheep, very original."

"It never ends with you, does it?"

"Ain't dead yet. But yeah…mutiny. It was fun."

"Do it again?"


	6. Chapter 6-Past, Present, Future

Author's note: I'm back, sorry about the long delay, but fic writing fell onto my very rearmost burner with the onset of last semester's finals and I never quite manged to bring it to the fore again, though this particular chapter I've been sitting on since December or so, though I'm not quite sure why. Can't promise I'll be doing much more writing soon (though I still intend to continue reading Ragnarok's fic; sorry I'm such a horrific flake), but I felt like I should at least publish this. As to content, this begins with a flashback to the immediate aftermath of Char after the end of Wings of Liberty. It's almost entirely story (and backstory, specifically of Zeratul and Tosh's meeting), and introduces a few minor Umojan characters, who I had a ton of fun writing, and thus will probably return. Mengsk also finally appears. The next chapter, whenever I write it, will probably be a return to action, and hopefully I'll introduce the other two members of Zeratul's team (both Protoss). As always, criticism of any variety is more than welcome.

* * *

"All yours, big man. One wacky, magical energy weapon thingy," Raynor said to the hulking, ten-foot tall humanoid looming over his shoulder, tapping a few keys on Xel'naga artifact weapon case's display, causing it to hiss closed.

"Thank you, friend Raynor. The Daelaam owe you yet another debt."

"I'll put it on your tab," eliciting a slightly disturbing telepathic chuckle from the prelate.

"You sure you want to give this thing to this guy, Raynor? Damned thing could be _extremely_ useful in the very near future," General Horace Warfield asked, looking up from the holographic display in the middle of his makeshift war room, showing his remaining troops' dispositions across the northern sector Dominion/Raider controlled Char.

"You do know that 'this guy' can hear you," Zeratul telepathized at the general.

"See, now that is just _goddamned unnerving_. I mean no disrespect, prelate, but I'd really prefer if you translated, Raynor, though I've got no idea how you stand it either."

"Practice. And, honestly, Zeratul can do a lot more damage to more important targets with this thing than we can."

"Wasn't what I meant. I meant it might help compensate for the _massive losses _we've taken over the past few days; might keep us from being overrun while we magic up some way to move all our power armored assess off this lava ball before the Zerg chop our nuts off."

"I may have a solution to that problem," Raynor said, turning back to Zeratul. "I wonder if I can call in that debt right now, Zeratul."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Transport, for my men, and maybe some technicians to help us get some of these wrecks spaceworthy again," he said, gesturing toward several smoking, visible, battlecruiser hulls.

"I believe I can do so."

"Really? The Protoss don't exactly have a lot to spare right now, I know."

"The Firstborn owe you a great deal, friend Raynor. Even the Khalai know of the sacrifices you have made for my people. Selendis, especially, speaks highly of you."

"Wasn't exactly the high point of my career, working with her."

"Which is one of the reasons she admires you; you made a difficult decision under even more difficult circumstances. It was the right one."

"And because of that, I ended up killing a lot of my own people."

"There is only one cure for infestation."

"Maybe."

"Nevertheless, you have gained not only the respect but the gratitude of my people. Such a feat is not to be underestimated, old friend. The Firstborn journeyed among the stars of this galaxy for thousands of years unchallenged, placing dozens of species under the great stewardship. We are a proud and hidebound people, and unwilling to recognize others as our equals. But you showed us the true potential of the so-called 'lesser species,' and I am proud to call you my friend," he said, extending his massive, two-thumbed hand in a startlingly human gesture.

Raynor took it, saying, rather lamely, "Same."

"These one-sided conversations are more than a little off-putting for those of us with vocal cords," Warfield said, not looking up.

"He says you just asked him not to communicate telepathically with you. He says you can't have it both ways, since he _doesn't_ have vocal cords. Or a mouth." Raynor translated.

"No kidding."

"You want me to _what_?"

"You heard me, Admiral. Let's not play this melodramatic game."

"Oh, no, we're going to play it, if only because this is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard. So please, humor me and repeat yourself so I can savor the true, unadulterated idiocy of the things issuing from your face hole, Mr. Secretary."

He sighed, saying, "You are to deploy a substantial chunk of the fleet's transport capacity and a sizeable portion of the Corps of Naval Engineers to Char."

"With escorts. Which, if my logistics department is right, and they always are, comes out to about thirty percent of our navy. To evacuate a bunch of Dominion jerkoffs. I don't think so."

"They're not exactly Dominion any more, and this comes from the highest authority in the Protectorate, maybe a little higher, if you're cynical."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"The Protoss asked us."

"I'm going to repeat myself: _what_?"

"The Protoss owe Raynor, and so they agreed to do a favor for him. We owe the Protoss, and so the Council agreed to do what they promised, since they're not exactly flush with resources right now."

"And we are?"

"Comparatively, yes. They're trying to rebuild an interstellar society. You're trying to finish firing drills a second faster. I'd say you've got more leeway, Tessa."

"Fuck you, Peter. You do realize that, if we do this, we'll be wide open for those Morian assholes to fuck us."

"The Protoss have agreed to back us in that case, and so have Raynor and his quasi-Dominion people."

"The same ones that are stuck on a monster-infested lava pit? That's comforting."

"More to the point," the Secretary said, ignoring his subordinate's sarcasm, "with Raynor's victory on Char and the explosion of his revolution all over the Dominion, he's become very interesting to the Council. This is a chance to get closer to him."

"Well, that I can't argue with that. It'd take a miracle for Mengsk to survive this."

"Which he's been known to pull off. That's why the Council wants to get in good with Raynor, to make sure he doesn't get the chance to pull off a miracle. If Raynor wins, the Protectorate wins. We've been trying to bring down the Dominion for years. Tried to bring down the Confederacy for even longer."

"That didn't exactly end the way we wanted it to."

"No. Which is why we can't screw it up again. And, ultimately, Tess, it doesn't matter what you think. These are your orders."

"You're right. It doesn't matter, because, despite being a smarmy, pedantic political asshole, you've actually convinced me, Peter."

"I have my moments."

"So you're going to use this thing to destroy the hybrids?" Raynor asked of Zeratul, as he watched the huge, sleek double-crescent form of an Umojan battlecruiser slide gracefully into Char's atmosphere, wreathed in the soft blue light of its active shield and point-defense fire, phase disruptor pulses tearing apart mutalisks, scourges, and corruptors. "I thought we needed Sarah for that."

"No. I believe that the Queen of Blades-"

"_Sarah_. The Queen of Blades is dead."

"Yes, of course. I believe Kerrigan is integral to defeating the Fallen One, but not necessarily to defeating his hybrid minions."

"Couldn't hurt. That damned thing on Castanar was the toughest thing I've ever seen."

"I can safely say that I know what you mean. Zhakul was not…a personal highlight. But, in any case, I know they can be destroyed by relatively ordinary means. In your idiom, if you shoot them enough, they die."

"The problem is getting enough firepower. Which that artifact weapon has."

"Indeed."

"How do you know it'll work on them, though?"

"I do not. In fact, I doubt it will. If the Fallen One is Xel'naga, as I suspect, it would stand to reason that he knows of this device, knows of its potential power. I doubt that he would leave his vanguard vulnerable to it. That would be far too convenient. Still, whatever else, I feel sure that this device is somehow critical to preventing the vision we both saw from coming true. As for the hybrids, I hope that, perhaps, I can modify it sufficiently that it will destroy them. The problem is I have no real way to test it."

"So, you'll be needin' a Plan B, then, brother," another voice said from behind the commander and the prelate.

"Tosh, hey. Zeratul, you haven't met Tosh, have you?"

"We talked once. Sort of," Tosh said.

"When I delivered the ihan crystal, I noticed a very powerful psychic entity on your ship. As powerful as a Templar; too powerful, almost. I could hardly fail to make contact. But it was not so much a conversation as an exchange of emotion."

"Yeah, I weren't in good shape when he showed up, brother. We had just left Castanar, and that thing's scream weren't exactly conducive to my mental health. The prelate helped with that. He let me in, let me relieve the pressure, so to speak."

"And you are fortunate I did. At the rate his despair and panic were building, he would not have been able to contain them for much longer, and be forced to expel them. From one as powerful as he, it might well have destroyed your ship."

"You did seem a lot better after that. I just thought you were tough and sucked it up."

"Well, I'm flattered, brother, but if it hadn't been for the prelate, we _would_ have been in a lot of trouble."

"Okay, I'm impressed. What did you say, big man?"

"I told him not to be afraid. That they could be defeated. That I had a plan."

"Not in so many words. But that was definitely the impression I got. My nana woulda called it irie, what he gave me. Speaking of which, to defeat the hybrids, you _will_ need a Plan B, prelate."

Zeratul inclined his massive head in concession, saying "Ideas?"

Tosh plucked a short, fat black cylinder from his belt. "This."

"And that is?" Raynor asked

"A variable yield fusion device," Zeratul said. "Crude, but potentially very effective."

"Yield between one and 260 gigatons, dependin' the kinda crater you feel like excavatin.' I got three, including this one; rainy days and all. Get all the hybrids close together, say on the same continent, we can use these as a fail-safe, brother."

"Yeah, along with half of whatever planet you happen to be standing on," Raynor said, staring unblinkingly at the horrendous thing, inching slowly away. "Maybe you should put it away. There's a good reason they're illegal, you know."

"Don't tell me you gettin' hung up on the law, brother. And if it decides to go off, not even the Lion o' Judah gonna save us. So why worry?"

"If you want to come along, I could certainly use someone of your talents, Gabriel Tosh."

"If Mr. Raynor can spare me."

"Hate to lose you, but Zeratul's job is actually even more important than mine. Go. Take care."

"You too. And take care of that girl o' yours, brother."

"I will. We're going to need her."

"Not what I meant."

"I know. Thanks. Now get the hell out of here. I'd rather not be on the same planet as one of those nukes."

"Irie."

* * *

"This could be going faster, Doctor!" The tall, bearded man shouted, spinning dramatically on his heel, causing his long coat to flair out.

"I am going as fast as is safe. Any faster, and the combat life-forms will not be stable. If they are not stable, they will quickly devolve into several hundred tons of protoplasm, and I doubt you have a big enough mop for that. So please, Emperor, allow me to finish my work, and you will have your weapon, when they are done," the white-bearded man said in his curious accent.

"Have you looked outside, Doctor? There are millions of ravenous monsters skittering all over my beloved homeworld. It cannot continue. I _need_ this weapon."

"I know. And as for looking outside, two miles of ice is still opaque."

"Be careful, Doctor-"

"Careful? Why should I be? You need me. As you might say, Emperor, in this relationship, mine is the whip hand."

"Do not overestimate yourself, Doctor. Everyone is expendable. Yes, your understanding of these hybrids and the means to create them is impressive. And if I did remove you, it would slow this project. But you are _not_ irreplaceable. My scientists assure me they can create the hybrids independent of your direction. Not as efficiently, surely, but they _can_ do it. If you become more trouble than you're worth, I will remove you," he said, glancing at one of his firebat bodyguards, who ignited the pilot light on one of his massive hydrogen-plasma jets meaningfully.

Emil Narud laughed softly, "I believe you."

"Good. Now, allow me to apologize for interrupting your important work. Good day, Doctor," Mengsk said, turning to go, trailed by the firebat and two marines.

"Moron," Narud said to Mengsk's back. If Mengsk heard him, he gave no sign. Then, Narud felt a strange, but calming sensation on the back of his neck. He let out a huge sigh, preparing himself to receive new instructions from his master. "Good, he suspects nothing. We must continue to allow him to think we serve him, for the near future."

"Will we use the vanguard to defeat the Zerg on this planet?" Narud asked, mentally, of the Fallen One.

"If necessary. We will likely need to eliminate the current Zerg factions in any case, and continuing to play along allow us to keep up our masquerade until we have built a truly overwhelming force."

"What if he kills me?"

"Then the vanguard will be completed more slowly. It is of little consequence. We have all of eternity."

"When we will there be enough of the hybrids to begin the Great Cleansing?"

"Very soon, my son. Very, very soon. And this time, we will not make the same mistakes."

* * *

"How many locations are left on the list?"

"Just three. They are definitely the most heavily fortified."

"Which is why we need Reese's killer."

"I am still skeptical."

"You seen him in action, brother. We gonna need his help."

"Fine. You said you would 'think of something.' What do you have?"

"I was just gonna walk up to him and put his guys to sleep so we can have a talk."

"Very sophisticated."

"Ain't exactly a subtle man, as you've seen."

"Which is part of why I am skeptical. We will not be assaulting these locations, friend Tosh."

"Edward Reese was the best shooter I ever seen, and I seen a _lot_. His voodoo, mediocre. But, good God, that man could shoot. And this guy? He killed him, a completely ordinary marine. No Ghost, no Spectre. Outshot and outstalked. _We gonna need him_."

"What if this Marine was simply lucky?"

"Especially then. We gonna need as much luck as we can get, especially with this Fallen One wantin' to eat our souls. And I thought we were planning to nuke the last three, just in case. Couple billion tons o' TNT ain't subtle neither, brother."

Zeratul gave one of unnerving his psychic chuckles, and said, "I suppose not. I have to admit, there is a simple joy in ludicrously powerful explosives that I can never recall experiencing before. The Firstborn have not employed fusion for many millennia. I begin to realize that we have been, as you say, missing out."

"They never build 'em like they used to."

* * *

"Ozzy, need you to take your section to clear out the first three floors of building, uh, E-12," Baird said, momentarily scrutinizing the tactical map on his HUD, which showed the 1st Marine Division and the 7th Armored division approaching each other, agonizingly slowly.

"Just us?"

"Can't spare anything else, sorry. This counterattack is probably already fucked, and pretty soon that building's going to be close to an exposed flank. Thus, the need to clear at least some of it," he said, glancing back at the map, showing three more pods of mutas and four broodlords moving into to reinforce the Zerg front against which the Marines pushed.

"Roger that," Ozzy said, cycling his comms to his section, "Guys, got some homework from teacher."

"As long as it's not math," O'Neill said.

"Physical education, actually. Report to my position, all of you."

A minute later, the four Marines were moving in on the building, a former high rise that had lost its top ninety or so floors, which lay across the street about a third of the 1st Marines advanced down, supporting the main push down Imperial Boulevard, supported by other high-rises on the east side of Imperial. Similar groups of Marines, though generally larger, moved to clear buildings that were substantially more intact. "Hey, Ozzy, is the captain losing it? Because that building is way too big for us to clear," Hauser commed, scanning windows with his dot sight.

"Only clearing the first three floors. But I was thinking the same thing."

"Yeah, this is bullshit, Sarge," Grimm added, covering the other three marines as they rushed out from behind a Diamondback corpse, to take up positions against their target building's façade.

"Cap said he didn't have anyone else."

"Which is why he shouldn't have sent anyone. Let Nomad or Joker handle it. They just got replacements. And look at those peckerwoods," O'Neill said, indicating the marines to their immediate north and south. "They're doing the same job with _platoons_. We're one fire team. Seriously: what the fuck? This ain't like the cap."

"Ever considered that we're the best?" Ozzy said, raising his rifle to cover Grimm's sprint to the façade.

"Well, of course," O'Neill replied.

"But that doesn't mean we're the same as a damned platoon," Hauser chimed in, tossing a frag grenade through the shattered glass of the huge front doors, appending, "Frag out!" causing the other marines to crouch against the building's nanocrete foot.

"Cover me," Ozzy said, advancing quickly into the lobby, taking cover behind the main desk. He swept the other doors leading into the lobby as Hauser and O'Neill followed him, covered from both directions by Ozzy and Grimm from the door. A moment later, Grimm joined them at the desk. "Teams of two; clear this floor. Grimm, you're with me."

"Aye."

A minute later, the floor was declared clear, no live contacts. "Who made all these Zerg corpses?" Ozzy asked rhetorically, turning a dead zergling over with his boot. It had been given a double tap, one in each of its shoulders, destroying both of its attacking arms, and finished with a quick, efficient thrust from a combat knife, severing the brain stem.

"Whoever it was, he knew what he was doing. Gotta know exactly where the stem is to cut it with a thrust. Most times you've gotta slash," Grimm said, probing the wound with his own knife.

"Risking deflection," Hauser said, his rifle trained on the staircase at the back of the lobby.

"Whoever it was, think he's still around?" Grimm asked

"If he were, would that be good for us or bad?" O'Neill commed from the front of the lobby, where he covered the street outside.

"If he is, he hasn't killed us yet, so, tentatively, good," Ozzy replied. "Which really leaves only one thing for us: go further down the rabbit hole."

"Or up, as the case may be," Hauser said, gesturing at the stairs with his gun.

"Up it is."

* * *

In one corner of the second floor, Gabriel Tosh crouched, mentally preparing himself to neutralize three marines. He took several deep breaths, and 'warmed up' his 'voodoo' by lifting chunks of masonry and broken glass off the floor, until a cloud of debris floated all around him. Hearing the four Marines nearing the top of the stairs, he let the debris fall gently to the ground. He quickly and silently rolled the several meters to the staircase, taking cover just out of sight. As the Marines reached the landing, but before they could fan out to secure the floor, Tosh leapt out, forcing his psychic will into the minds of three of the Marines, commanding them to sleep. They slumped to the floor, causing the lead Marine to snap around, his gun trained on Tosh's forehead. He pulled the trigger, eliciting only a dry click. Not hesitating, he dropped the rifle and pulled out his shotgun, attempting to fire again, and getting only another dry click, sending him to his knife, which Tosh ripped from his hand with telekinetic force. "Sorry about that, brother, but we need to talk," he said.

Ozzy didn't respond, charging at Tosh, fists raised. Tosh dodged the attack, saying, "Come now, brother. Let's be civilized."

"Did you kill my men?!" Ozzy shouted, raising his visor, and charging again, which Tosh deflected with a telekinetic blow.

"They fine. Just sleeping. Like I say, we need to talk."

"You're a Spectre," Ozzy said, finally relenting in his attempts to kill the other man. "I can smell that terrazine shit on you. I _hate_ Spectres."

"I know that you do, brother. You killed a friend o' mine, back in the uprising. The man you got that souped-up rifle from. Edward Reese."

"I remember him. He was good. Really good. Better than me."

"Evidently not, brother. He dead, you alive."

"I got lucky."

"Don't underestimate yourself. I seen you and yours fight, Oswald Barnes."

"Let's cut to the chase: what the hell do you want, and why weren't my weapons working?"

Tosh gave Ozzy a little telekinetic push, saying, "I switched on the safeties. As for what I want, well, I need your help."

"And why would I help you?"

"I'm here on a mission, brother. Important. Maybe more important than anything else. I can't fail, ain't an option. I need all the help I can get."

"Why my help?"

With a shrug, the dreadlocked warrior said, "You killed Reese. He was the best I ever seen. You? Better."

"Flattering as that is, forget it. You want me to leave my men in the middle of this shitpile? No fucking way."

"Thought you would say that. Fair enough. Let me lay it out for you: the glorious emperor's building a weapon, one that he's got no way of controlling. Mengsk thinks he's going to use it to wipe out the Zerg on Korhal. And from a certain perspective, he's right. The Zerg will die. But it'll also kill everything else on this planet. Mengsk is a dupe, a stooge for something even worse. This weapon's part o' that thing's vanguard. You want to do right by your men, you help me."

"That's the best you've got? Vague evils and doomsday devices?"

"Not exactly a doomsday device, brother. More like doomsday creatures. Massive Zerg-Protoss hybrids, stronger, faster, tougher, deadlier than anything you ever seen before. You and yours is no match for 'em. Zerg's no match, neither. Even the Protoss got no chance. They get out, they kill everything on the planet, the sector, the galaxy. You can help me nip that shit in the bud, brother."

"Again, is that it?"

"Ain't even started yet, brother," Tosh said, forcing his way into Ozzy's mind. "You want proof?" Tosh asked, inside Ozzy's head. "Here it is," he said, showing Ozzy his memories of Castanar, the hybrid's scream, his panic, Zeratul's visit, the ihan crystal, Zhakul, the Overmind's vision, the Fallen One, and the end of the universe.

"Good enough?" Tosh asked, withdrawing from Ozzy's mind, causing him slump to the ground, gibbering slightly. "That? That's what we up against. That's what we gotta stop. A motherfucking _god_. You want to keep your men safe? _Then you will. Help. Me_."

On the ground, Ozzy threw up, and tried, unsuccessfully, at length, to push himself up, out of the puddle. "You see now?" Tosh asked, extending his hand to help the other man up. Ozzy grasped Tosh's arm, tiny compared to his bulky, power-armored hand. "I do," Ozzy gasped. "Fuck me, but I do."

"Then we have work to do, brother."


End file.
